Turning Tables
by Jemima123
Summary: Sherlock Holmes had always been the reckless one and Mycroft Holmes had always been the sensible one. What if there had been someone to counteract both of the brothers? Someone who was their sister?
1. Chapter 1

"Sherlock Holmes," the frustrated voice declared as they stood in front of the large mahogany desk. The woman who spoke tapped her foot against the marbled floor in annoyance as her arm rested on the top of the desk, her fingers then tapping on the wooden surface, the noise echoing around the empty room. The man behind the desk nodded once at her and went about checking the name on his computer as the woman looked away from him and around the waiting room, taking in the brochures which sat on the small coffee table which had been chipped and scratched repeatedly. She checked the clock on her phone and then dropped it back into the pocket of her long grey goat as the man moved from his seat and into another room. As she waited she felt her phone vibrate twice but before she had the chance to check the texts, she saw him moving out to her. His face was pale, as per usual, and his features held no sign of relief or of gratitude for the woman who had just come to collect him from a jail cell.

"Clare," Sherlock nodded at the woman who pursed her lips. He began to walk out in front of her and she followed, handing in his passport to agree to the conditions of his bail. As she caught up with him she extended her hand, hitting him around the back of the head as he automatically rubbed the spot of impact.

"You bloody idiot," she hissed at him as they entered the fresh, cold night air of London and Sherlock looked around for a cab. "Do you have any idea what today is?"

"You didn't need to hit me so hard," he said, acting like a sulking child as Clare gritted her teeth which created a grinding noise and she bit her tongue so not to swear. "And no. I do not know what today is...each days has seemed to roll into one at the moment. The case which I have is certainly interesting."

"I don't give a damn!" she snapped at Sherlock, attracting stares from people who passed on by. "You were supposed to be at your suit fitting tonight!"

"I have plenty of suits," he replied quickly back to her, his eyes narrowed down into hers. "I don't need a new one."

"I'm paying for it!"

"I don't care," Sherlock snapped. "Your money is no interest to me. And your fiance's wealth is also something which does not interest me."

"You're supposed to be giving me away, Sherlock," she said to him, reminding him of the responsibility which he had. "You're supposed to be walking me down the aisle. I chose you! I should have picked Mycroft."

"Well why don't you? Then you could do us all a favour," Sherlock grumbled.

"But I picked you, Sherlock," she said to him. "You're my big brother and I thought that you'd be able to just get through one suit fitting and manage to turn up on time to walk me down the aisle. I've always been closer to you, even if you are the reckless and irresponsible one."

Sherlock remained silent after hearing her speak like that and he finally managed to hail a cab. He opened the door gently, looking at her as he did so before he spoke gently and quietly.

"Do you want to come and get a coffee?" he wondered and she took a brief moment to think, hesitation looming in her mind. "As a thank you for bailing me out of jail?"

"I can't," she decided. "Charles will be wondering where I am and we both need to sort out the invitation list."

"How did you get here?"

"I took the Mercedes," she mumbled back to Sherlock before moving her black satchel further onto her shoulder. "Look...I'll come around tomorrow night after I've been shopping for bridesmaids dresses and we can talk, okay?"

"What is there to talk about?" Sherlock wondered aloud and Clare sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose to stop her from losing control and yelling at her brother again.

"Sometimes siblings just need to talk, Sherlock," she informed him. "Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, his voice full of hesitation and confusion as he agreed to her request, still not sure why they needed to talk.

"I'll see you tomorrow."


	2. Chapter 2

"You can't keep bailing him out, Clare," the frustrated voice spoke as the young woman sighed gently once and stepped into the walk in wardrobe as her fiancé sat in bed, his back resting against the headboard and a book held firmly in his hands. Clare remained hidden from his view and around the corner, hanging up her dress onto a coat hanger and then slipping out of the black heels which she tended to wear. "He's going to have to learn to stand on his own two feet. He is older than you too."

"I know," Clare replied, feeling as though the conversation could lead into an argument. Charles and Clare had differing views on Sherlock. "He just needs to keep the case and have something to stimulate his brain."

"He failed to turn up to his suit fitting for his little sister's wedding," Charles pointed out, dropping the glasses which he wore down his nose and then looking into the doorway of the walk in wardrobe as he saw Clare walk out. She had her baggy pyjamas covering her small frame and bed socks were placed on her feet. "He could at least do that for you."

"I know," Clare repeated. "I know what he thinks of this wedding, Charles."

"Ha," Charles snorted loudly, pushing his blonde hair behind his ears and dropped in his book onto his lap, the front cover and blurb visible as it rested on top of the large, brown duvet. "He thinks I corrupted you, Clare."

"I've told him you did no such thing," Clare replied in a slow drawl as she stood by the mahogany dressing table where one half of the wood contained her things and the other contained his. She opened up the tub of moisturiser and rubbed it into her hands. "It was my choice to drop out of university...it wasn't anything to do with you."

"Sherlock doesn't see it like that," he replied in a low voice. "He thinks that you left to be closer to me in London and no amount of yelling at him and telling him otherwise will persuade him different."

"Sherlock just needs time, Charles," Clare pleaded with him as she pulled back her side of the covers and climbed into the bed, settling down beside her fiancé as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, picking up his book again and looking at it through his small green eyes. "He just needs to see that I'm happy with you and that I haven't messed up my future."

"You don't think that, do you?"

"No," Clare replied quickly back to him, hitting him gently on the stomach. "You know I love you, Charles."

"Just checking," he replied in a chuckle, reading his book again as Clare shut her eyes, nestling closer to her fiancé.

"I said I'd go around to his apartment tomorrow night...just to see if we can get along for an hour maximum..."

...

"You cannot keep fingers in the fridge, Sherlock," Clare complained as she opened the cold cupboard and pulled the milk out of the shelf. Sherlock was stood by the middle table in his kitchen of 221 B as he looked into his microscope, his curly black hair falling into his face as he spoke back to her in a low tone;

"They're cooling before I open them up to explore-"

"-Stop," Clare demanded before he could carry on. "I don't care what you're looking for, Sherlock."

"Well don't scold me as if I am a child for using my own fridge for my own purposes," Sherlock huffed and Clare rolled her eyes, pouring the milk into the pot of tea before placing it back into the fridge. "Why are you really here anyway?"

"I thought it would just be nice to talk, Sherlock." Clare said, complaining in her mind that she even had to explain that to her brother.

"I have a new flatmate coming around to look at the flat tonight," Sherlock replied lowly. "So I don't have a lot of time."

Clare remained silent, trying not to drop the cup of tea which she was holding as she leant against the worktop with wide eyes, her blue orbs peering at Sherlock.

"A flatmate? You do realise that is another human being?" she checked with him and he looked up from his microscope and rolled his eyes before he stood up and grabbed his own cup of tea. He held the mug in one hand, his other hand resting on his hip which was covered by his purple shirt.

"Very amusing," he spoke back to her. "I need someone to go halves on the rent with. He's coming to look soon."

"How did you manage to get someone to agree to this?" Clare wondered aloud as Sherlock shrugged.

"He is an ex-army doctor. Back from Afghanistan and needs a place to stay."

"So he's a stranger," Clare said and Sherlock simply raised his brow at her and she shook her head again. "No he's not...you managed to look at him and find out his whole life."

"Of course," Sherlock said smugly.

"Anyway," Clare said, "I'm intrigued now."

"I wish you weren't."

"You've never had any friends, Sherlock."

"He's not a friend. He is just a flatmate."

"I think it will end up being something deeper than that," Clare said, knowing she was right this time as Sherlock rolled his eyes and dropped the subject of Doctor John Watson.

"So how is Charles?" he asked and Clare snorted once.

"Don't pretend you care."

"I was being polite."

"Makes a change."

"Are we planning on being civil to each other?" Sherlock said and Clare remained silent once as she nodded finally.

"Charles is good. He's busy at work with the tax year end," she shrugged. "He...he thinks it might be a good idea if we all go out for dinner before the wedding. He can bring his parents and I can invite you and Mycroft."

"Really?" Sherlock raised a brow, a smirk growing on his face as Clare managed to smile back at him lightly.

"I said it wasn't a good idea," she told her brother, draining the rest of her tea. "I wouldn't want you to say something and upset my in-laws...anyway, I had best get going."

"I went to my suit fitting," Sherlock informed his sister, placing his cup onto the side as Clare shrugged into her coat, fastening it up down to her stomach and up to her chin as she pushed her black, curled hair behind her shoulders. "I picked the suit up today and it is in my wardrobe."

"Thank you," Clare said politely.

"No problem," Sherlock assured her.

"I'll see you later, Sherlock," Clare responded.

"Look after yourself."

Clare took off down the steps off 221 B and moved onto the pathway, not before bumping into a small, blonde man who was looking at the door with intent. She grinned gently, knowing who he was as soon as she saw his firm stance and his walking stick.

"He's in there, Doctor Watson," she said to the man and he looked at her, the face of confusion evident on his features as she dropped his gaze and managed to quickly hail a cab. John didn't know who she was and he didn't get a chance to ask, but he did know she was going to play a large part in his life.


	3. Chapter 3

The Monday morning was always dull for Clare. Charles left for work at the crack of dawn and she knew he wouldn't be back until seven that night which left her with an entire day on her own. There was only so much cleaning of the penthouse apartment which she could manage. But it seemed that things were taking a turn on the cool Monday morning. She didn't particularly understand why but as soon as she answered the intercom to their apartment she knew something was either wrong or on the verge of changing.

"Hello," she answered as the apartment bell rang and she pressed her finger to the answer button.

"Clare," the familiar voice of Mycroft Holmes called up to his sister and she blinked quickly. "I need to speak with you."

"To what do I owe the honour?" Clare asked, pretending to be humbled by her own brother's visit in a tone so full of sarcasm which Sherlock would associate with.

"Can one brother simply not visit their youngest sibling?" Mycroft asked, feigning innocence in his voice which earned a small chuckled from the young woman as she rested against the wall and took a deep breath.

"Come up, Mycroft," she spoke, giving him access to her apartment as she opened the door which led out to the private hallway and waited for him to come out the elevator. She continued her pondering in silence, only the noise of the ticking clock audible. It didn't take long before she saw her brother move from the lift, his usual umbrella swinging in his hands and his body covered in the finest suit which money could buy. Clare remained resting against the doorframe as he managed a small smile at her.

"Nice to see you, Clare," he spoke and she moved from the door, allowing Mycroft to push past her before she closed the wood in its hole and moved to the open spaced kitchen, flicking the switch on the kettle.

"So what brings you here, Mycroft?" she enquired from him, pouring a tea bag into each cup and pulling the milk out from the large fridge as Mycroft took a seat on the bar stool at the breakfast bar.

"I would have thought you would have known," he commented, running his hand along the smooth marble surface, looking at his sister with intent.

"It is to do with Sherlock, isn't it?" she replied. "You want to know what I know about his new flatmate."

"Do you not think it odd that Sherlock is living with someone?" Mycroft asked her and she shrugged, pulling the long cardigan back onto her shoulder from where it had fallen.

"I don't think he is gay if that is what you're implying?" she wondered, teasing her brother and Mycroft knew better than to fall for it.

"I know that," he chuckled. "I want to know what Sherlock is doing."

"Even a sociopath gets lonely," Clare explained, hearing the kettle boil and turning her back to her brother and pouring the drinks as she continued speaking to him. "I know it is slightly odd but Sherlock maybe just wants someone to talk to and besides, the rent must be high in Baker Street."

"I shall speak to Sherlock about this soon," Mycroft decided, taking the mug from his sister and holding it in his hands. "I had a word with Doctor Watson last night but he didn't divulge into anything."

"You did what?" Clare replied, pushing her hair from her face and standing the other side of the breakfast bar. "You did your power play thingy, didn't you?"

"Come along, Clare," Mycroft drawled and he chuckled gently. "It is quite amusing to see people squirm under my interrogation. Your fiancé was an extremely good example."

"He thought he was going to be held hostage, Mycroft," Clare said flatly to her brother and he grinned into his tea as he sipped on it. "And I have your invitation to the wedding. Give me a moment and I will get it."

"No need," Mycroft assured her. "Twelfth of December at one p.m...St Bernard's Chapel, correct?"

"I would ask how you knew," Clare replied, "but I forgot you were the British Government."

"Oh don't be ridiculous," Mycroft said with the smirk still in place on his face. "I needed to find out to clear my diary and you were wasting time in making your decorative invitations. Although I am shocked that you asked Sherlock to walk you down the aisle. Do you honestly believe he will get to the chapel on time? It is a bride's prerogative to be late, not Sherlock's."

"I would have you both walk me down the aisle, Mycroft," Clare said sympathetically. "But Sherlock...well..."

"You don't need to explain," Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You two have always been close. My work has always taken priority."

"We're not a traditional family, are we?" Clare giggled lightly to herself and Mycroft nodded in agreement with her statement, sipping on his drink once again.

"I suppose you could say that," he spoke. "Tell me, have you invited mother yet?"

"I called her the other night," Clare whispered. "She told me straight out what she thinks of my marriage."

Mycroft remained quiet for a moment, looking at his young sister as she looked into her tea and he sighed gently.

"I could have a word with her if you wish?" he offered and she shook her head quickly.

"She made her feelings known," she assured Mycroft. "She sees my marriage as nothing more than me being a gold-digger."

"She's an old woman," Mycroft shrugged again. "As long as you are sure that this is what you want then you need not worry."

"I love Charles," she assured him. "Is that not enough?"

"I've heard it is for some people."

...

A/N: Thanks to anyone reading and do review!


	4. Chapter 4

"Mycroft has been bothering me," Clare told Sherlock when he saw her walk into the restaurant where he and John were. He had called her earlier in the evening, insisting that she come for dinner with he and his new flatmate and she had no idea as to why he had been so persistent. Persistency equalling seven texts messages in the same hour. Sherlock moved along in his seat, allowing his sister to grab another chair and pull it up to the table, settling into it as she pushed her coat from her shoulders.

"He wants to know about John," Sherlock muttered, his eyes looking out the window intently as Clare watched him and she raised a brow whilst the doctor placed a hand onto his own chest.

"Me?" he wondered. "Who is Mycroft?"

"Our brother," Clare simply spoke, offering her hand out to the middle aged man. "Clare Holmes."

"Sherlock's sister, I presume," John said, taking her hand and gently shaking it as she smirked, glancing over to her brother who was still looking out the window.

"Unfortunately," she drawled, wondering if Sherlock was intending to pay attention to the two of them.

"I did hear that," Sherlock spoke to her, resting his arm onto the table and placing his chin into his hand.

"So why am I here?" Clare pondered. "What is so urgent that you sent me seven text messages?"

"I need you to be look out for me. I'm on a case." Sherlock curtly said and Clare rolled her eyes, sitting back and crossing her legs before picking up the menu, looking into it and wondering what to order. Sherlock noted her actions and he moved his head to the side, watching her with narrowed eyes and a face of confusion.

"What are you doing?" he asked her. "That's not keeping lookout."

"When you invite people out for dinner then they don't eat beforehand, Sherlock," Clare spoke shortly to him. "They come out and expect dinner hence why I am ordering food and a drink. Do you want anything?"

"Don't be absurd," Sherlock snorted, taking the menu from her hands and laying it on his side of the table as John did nothing but sit and watch the sibling, wondering what type of upbringing they had.

"I forgot," Clare muttered, "you don't eat when you're on a case. You do know how unhealthy that is, don't you?"

"You keep reminding me every time I have a case," Sherlock mumbled. "Dear sister," the sarcasm at the end was evident. "And besides, I know what you will want to eat. You'll have a lasagne like you normally do."

"I might have something different to prove you wrong."

"I dare you."

"Do you want anything Doctor Watson?" Clare finally spoke back to John as he simply looked at her, coughing once and shaking his head as he did so.

"I'm fine," he assured her.

"Please do not feel the need to not eat simply because Sherlock isn't," Clare informed him. "He's always been an odd one."

"Oh the love," Sherlock muttered. "I thought you might have brought Charles with you."

Sherlock remained staring out of the window, his eyes smirking with amusement and his eyebrows rose on his forehead.

"Charles is busy at home working on people's accounts." Clare spoke, sounding slightly bored and Sherlock picked up on it. He knew his sister was a young and spirited thing. She was twenty one and already engaged to a twenty seven year old accountant who took his job extremely seriously. She pretended she liked the role of a stay at home fiancée but Sherlock knew better. He knew she got bored. He knew she was like him. Maybe not as sociopathic but heading that way.

"Boring you, is he?" Sherlock mumbled and she rolled her eyes.

"Good try, Sherlock," she spoke ironically. "I know I made the right choice to leave university and be with Charles so do not talk like you just did. So Doctor Watson, why did you agree to move in with my sociopathic brother?"

"Um," John stammered for a second, looking at Sherlock as he looked back at him; waiting for an answer. "I don't really know to be honest."

"Neither do I," Clare mumbled back as Sherlock stood up quickly, grabbing his coat.

"He's here," Sherlock declared, looking outside.

"Who is?"

"The killer."

"I am not going after a killer!" Clare snapped back at Sherlock as her brother bent down and kissed the top of her head in glee.

"Then keep John company."

Sherlock stormed from the restaurant, shrugging into his coat as he did and moving with haste as he did. John looked at Clare for a moment and then stood up as she did the same thing. They ran outside in time to see Sherlock rush over a car bonnet.

"Sherlock!" Clare snapped at him. "Don't you remember mother saying never play in traffic?"

The car which Sherlock had been following rushed out of sight and Sherlock shook his head, his hands moving either side of his head as he thought about things in his head.

"Road closure!" he yelled out, running hastily to a building as John followed him and the pair of them scaled the length of it. Clare remained at the bottom, looking up and not fancying the climb in her heels as she thought about where the diversion would take the cab. Staying on flat ground was much more preferable to her. She shook her head, allowing Sherlock to continue on his little escapade around London as she walked onto the main street, hailing a cab before climbing into it.

"Baker Street," she said, deciding to meet Sherlock back at his flat. She heard the locking of the doors and instantly wondered what the hell was going on. "Did you just lock these doors?"

"I certainly did, Miss Holmes," he assured her and she leaned forward in the seat, her eyes focused on the driver.

"Who the hell are you?" Clare snapped.

"It doesn't matter who I am. It only matters who you are, Miss Holmes."


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock walked back to the restaurant after his and John's escapade around London and he remained smirking, unable to hold it back as he thought about what he and John had just been through. The Doctor Watson was certainly something. He was energetic and full of dynamic which Sherlock liked.

"So...your sister..." he said on the walk back and Sherlock turned to look at him, his brow raised in questioning as he took in John's face. His eyes were looking straight ahead and his mouth was slightly raised. He didn't say anymore, mainly because he didn't get a chance to do so. Sherlock was speaking before he had the opportunity to continue his enquiry.

"She's engaged," he said bluntly, stopping John. "He's a twenty seven year old accountant."

"I gathered she was in some kind of relationship..." John blurted out. "I mean she mentioned she dropped out of university so I guessed it was special..."

"Be quiet, John," Sherlock demanded, making him not go on as he looked up to him with wide eyes. "I can see you have been attracted to her. Her bolshie attitude, natural curls; large blue eyes have made many men fawn all over her much to my dismay considering she had the joy of leading them on. You have not been the first to be enticed by her but I pity you."

John remained silent. Taking in what Sherlock had just said was interesting. He didn't know how to respond. He wasn't even thinking that deeply about her. Yes, she was good looking and she seemed to have the same stubborn attitude of Sherlock but John had thought not that much more of it. He was just intrigued.

Thankfully, he didn't get the chance to be able to say anything else as Sherlock entered the restaurant where the owner was stood, John's walking stick in his hand and Clare's black bag in his other hand as he looked at Sherlock. The detective looked around, expecting to see his sister there but there was nothing.

"Your sister left after you," he said to Sherlock whose eyes narrowed in confusion as he was handed the bag and John took his stick, smirking at it for a second. "She climbed into a cab across the road but she forgot her bag. The driver took her though."

"He took her?" Sherlock checked and the owner nodded once.

"Yes...he seemed happy too...she didn't come back for the bag so I kept it safe...anyway...I have customers, Sherlock."

He scurried off as Sherlock walked outside again, looking around, his brain working overtime as John watched him.

"Something off?"

"How many cab drivers would you know who would willingly take a woman somewhere when they had no means to pay them?" Sherlock snapped at John. "She left her bag too. She would have realised as soon as she climbed into the cab. The first thing she does when she's in one is check her phone. Routine. She likes to know what time she will roughly get home. She wouldn't have gone off without it. And he wouldn't have let her."

"So...what..you're saying the killer...you think the killer has her?" John pieced together the clues as Sherlock looked around, moving his hands into his pockets before he began to wander off into the night, not wanting to answer John's question.

...

Clare didn't know what was happening. One moment she was in the back of the cab and the next she was in what looked like a classroom. Surely she had died and gone to hell. Classrooms were always her idea of hell. Especially science labs like the one she found herself in. Slowly, she sat up, peering around the room and looking for any sign of life. The lights were dimly lit and her head was resting on a table, her body slumped on a stool as she sat up.

"I'm sorry for dragging you here, Miss Holmes," his voice informed her as her eyes began to come into focus, taking in the cab driver as he held something in his hands, his gaze fixed on it. "But your brother has become slightly annoying."

"Sounds like Sherlock," Clare grunted and the driver laughed, fiddling with his cap as he checked the pills in the bottle. It was a game. A game which Sherlock Holmes was about to lose.

"Yes, it does," he agreed with her. "So you see that the only way in which this...matter...can be resolved is via you. We need to stop Sherlock getting into trouble."

"I'm afraid this is nothing to do with me," Clare decided, tapping the desk once and standing up, her legs feeling slightly weak as she did so but she managed to hold onto the surface, pulling herself closer to the door before she heard a click noise and she froze, her shoulders hunched as she rolled her eyes, cursing Sherlock in her head.

"Guns are very powerful, Miss Holmes. If you walk out that door then I will kill you, make no mistake about it but if you stay there is a chance you live," he promised her and she turned around quickly, her brown curls moving over her shoulder as she glared at him.

"I've read about this," she told him, remaining stood as he tossed the glass bottle into the air, the pills rattling around inside of it. "You want me to pick a pill. One could kill me and the other will do nothing. But why would you risk your own life?" Clare asked him simply and he shrugged at her, smirking as he did so.

"Living for the thrill," he informed her and she shook her head, unable to believe what he was telling her as he opened the lid to the jar. "My sponsor pays me well to do this. The money goes into my children's fund...they need something..."

"And why can you not provide for them?" Clare wondered aloud, sitting back down on the stool, her eyes never leaving his as he remained grinning. "Surely it is better than going around as a murderer."

"I don't kill," he snapped at her. "They willingly took the pill. I didn't force them."

"You may as well have," Clare retorted. "Answer the question."

"I have a tumour," he explained to her, pointing to his head as he did so. "Big thing...cab driving...it doesn't pay well enough to support my kids...I'm dying, Miss Holmes."

"That's one more scumbag which the world has rid itself of," Clare snapped at him and he glared at her, pulling his gun back out, pointing it at her chest.

"I would kill you right here and now if it weren't for my sponsors demands," he informed her and she tried to remain brave. She was staring death in the face and she knew it. All because of Sherlock.

"Go on then," she dared him. "I'm dead anyway. Give me the pill."

He looked at her in silence before he drew the pink capsules from their spot, resting them onto the table, indicating that she should have the first pick. Clare looked at them, trying to differentiate between life and death before she closed her eyes, outstretching her hand and picking up one randomly, not knowing what else to do as she looked at it in her fingers.

"Are you sure?" he checked with her and she remained silent, not wanting to talk to him about the matter in hand as she looked at it in her hands.

"Go ahead, Miss Holmes," he urged her, holding his own pill in front of his mouth, still smirking as he did so. Clare took a deep breath, thinking about the choice and remaining hesitant. He held the gun in front of her, pointing it at her. "You're going to die if you don't do it."

"You won't get away with this," she informed him. "Regardless of what happens."

"Oh I have," he promised her. "And I will."

Clare placed the pill into her mouth, contemplating holding it there. She couldn't swallow it. She didn't want to swallow it.

"You need to swallow it, Miss Holmes," he said to her, a smirk on his face as he took his own pill. But before Clare could even force herself to swallow the pillow the door burst open. She turned her face, holding the pill in her cheek as she looked at him. Sherlock.

"Don't!" he yelled at Clare. "Don't swallow it!"

The cab driver popped his pill out, pointing the gun at Sherlock as Clare spat it into her hands. He held the gun up, pointing it at Sherlock who was smirking and he shook his head.

"It's a fake," he told him. "I know you don't have a real gun."

And then time seemed to go slowly. Clare dropped to the floor, her limbs becoming weak as Sherlock looked at her and the cab driver did the same.

"It seems some of the pill got into her system via her saliva." He told Sherlock who glared at him.

"What is the cure?" he snapped, dropping to his knees and holding his sister in his arms, watching her as she closed her eyes, frothing at the mouth slightly and her body turned unresponsive. "Tell me what the cure is!"

"That is something which you will need to find out fast." He told Sherlock before a shot rang around the room. The cab driver fell to the ground, causing Sherlock to jump slightly as blood began seeping out of his body. But he was the least of his concern. His sister was the one he had placed into danger. He had caused this.

...

A/N: More to come soon! Realised I hadn't updated in a while but thought I would have another go! Please review!


End file.
